My Lesbian Encounter with Time Management
by DoctorPepsiDelights
Summary: So what if Time Management was personified and had a crush. . . on Procrastination. This fanfiction is part 1 of a silly, yuri story with my OCs: Time Management and Procrastination. I was inspired by Hetalia with the idea of personifying concepts and making it really gay. Hope you enjoy! Remember that I love reviews!


There's a reason why the universe is forever moving towards entropy. Call this phenomenon perfect design. So why does Time Management desire so to ruin this for me, Procrastination?

After a vigorous work day of leaving tasks for tomorrow, my dilapidated bags are the first items to be tossed into my apartment. Followed by myself. My slightly chubby legs spring me from the tiled outdoors to my worn carpeting. Inhaling down my unbuttoned collar to my chest cladded in eggshell, shirt material; I gleefully expect the potent scent of years of sour feet. For such a scent signified the carpet embracing the unplanned stomping of guests and myself throughout my humble abode. Though, wait a moment. . .

I begin snorting in my atmosphere as I start to doubt my nose. Bleach? Raven leggings rush into a standing position as I lean against a cream-hued wall for support. My pupils scavenge for an explanation. Laundry that once found residence sprawling throughout the apartment corridors were now in folded, calculated stacks. Chinese takeout containers from yesterday's feast were now in charcoal trash bags tied with dainty, bunny ears. This anti-tornado took what was once chaos and added order. Order. . . Time Management!

"What in the name of tomorrow is this, Time Management! You broke in, again!"

"It's not breaking in if I have a key, dear."

"That you copied!"

Emitting a low huff, I begin to stomp off.

Next day rolls into existence about the same time my bus rolls into the stop. Pickle hued locks from my oval head rest against the window of the relatively new bus. "Metropolitan meets 80's chic and becomes too clingy" fills the vibe of my neighborhood. Guess that's a given since the city's main attraction is the fashion academy. Though, my usual eggshell button up, raven dress pants, and jazzy tie proves the nonexistent nature of my affiliation to the institution. My zeal is manifested in team, office work in which my progress is nearly impossible to track. Was it Harald or me who filed the report? The world will never know.

To be fair though, it was probably Harald.

Repetitive twirling of my work chair was met with a snicker from the ginger woman in the lavender, summer dress tapping away into a spreadsheet. Time Management. Accidentally making eye contact, I did the act every, mature adult would do in public. I meet her Emerald irises with a sky blue glare and stick out my strawberry-hued tongue before swirling the spinney stool towards my work computer. Look at Time Management. Constantly groping my calendar. Prodding at my digital clock. Yearning for my endearing focus. Though I explicitly state that feeling is not mutual, she continues to desire this clutch at my every moment. At my every bloody moment! Not only are her grubby digits mangling the flower petals, that are my free time; she flings them into calculated puddles like some flower girl that places excessive diligence into making her every act meaningful. Why place the flower petals in dainty lines when one can truly thrash them into the audience! There is always tomorrow for clean up. . . Next week work, too.

Anyway, what's the aesthetic behind scheduling someone's every interaction? What if the person is a bit late for one activity? Then they would have to reschedule everything else or shorten the activity they were late for. What's to point of that? Now the schedule is just some item of novelty. Might as well have repurposed those 15 minutes of constructing a list to taking a nap. Either way, the person ends up snoring. That's kind of funny, "either way, the person ends up snoring". My head swaying the slightest in pride, I open my word document of random phrases that come to mind. Returning from my daydream coma, my gnawed on fingertips peck at the keyboard. My chilled finger pads picking up the occasional muffin crumb from the keyboard spaces.

"Oh Procrastination darling, muttering to ourself again, are we? Truly a dreadful habit, when intrusive thoughts bombard your consciousness, just write them down on a piece of paper, and attend to them after the task at hand. Wait, what are you typing into your computer?"

Oh goodness, no. No!

"Are those. . . Are those invasive ideas you're noting for later?"

"Screw you! I'm actually doing my work, not this 'noting down invasive ideas' garbage!"

With another hasty glaze and a blow of a raspberry, I rest my chin on my desk and stare at the computer intensely. Though, a few moment later, the mighty Harald approach! A wondrous yawn emitted from the teen as he scratches the back of his floppy, blueberry mohawk.

"Jessica- I mean, Procrastination, keep it down. Some of us are trying to work here. Also, Sarah told me to hand you this."

"Aw yes, you mean Time Management."

"Christ, Jessica. Just take this coffee."

Wait? Coffee? That plight of society, Time Management, is offering me coffee? At what price. . . Scarlet dusting itself across my complexion as a cursive "Park after work?" on the side of the mug captures my focus.

"I mean, why not. . ."

At that, I inhaled the maple scented beverage and sipped at the caffeinated contents.

"So, can explain your obsession with time?"

"What?"

Blinking, I cock an eyebrow towards Time Management.

"You know. . ."

As we make our way around an oak, Time Management's lavender flavor becomes evident as she takes a step towards me. She silky arms wrapping around my not so silky elbow.

"You always bicker about how I "force you to follow the schedule", and it almost seems like you're obsessed with not organizing your time. Not that it's a bad thing. In fact, it's weird because. . . You're like, cool that way?"

"Well, you're pretty cool yourself, I guess. . ."

As Time Management started to flush the slightest at my hesitant compliment, I start to notice lapses in time begin us. A tree suddenly shrinking a shrub. A squirrel becoming a skeleton. The creak pavement straightening out into smooth concrete.

Blinking, I suddenly dash away from Time management. Nope nope. What is this, a terrible science fiction about the space-time continuum?

This is not happening.

Time Management and I were finally seeing face to face!

This is not happening.

I admitted to her that she was cool! I can't just take that back! What can I do, tell her this never was a thing?

This is not. . . happening.

Sneaking into Procrastination's apartment, Time Management entered in part to inquire about her partner's anxiety at the park, but also to do some tidy work. As she strolls towards Procrastination's only and favorite couch, Time Management's gaze is captured by a lime green sticky label.

Dear Time Management,

Turns out, we weren't meant to mingle intimately? Coexisting was our only option? Now don't get your fannies in a twist and spewing out nonsense such as,

"Oh, how shall we ever hide our blossoming friendship from time itself?"

Because the universe already knows. The universe has always known. That's why I won't leave our separation to a "natural disaster". Since the universe is minimalistic when it comes to creativity, it'll probably just try killing one of us. Extreme creativity, I know.

Also, not to be egocentric, but I would probably be the target. Since when has the Earth preferred procrastination over time management? It would be. . . "healthier" to keep you around.

As much as I'd love to waste your time on a funeral, it would suck to imagine you sulking over my limp form. Attempting to grasp my hand even though I'm undergoing rigor mortis. So now let's just give time what it wants.

Screw you and let me out of your life,

Procrastination

"Now that just won't do, darling."

A toothy smirk working across Time Management complexion, she takes her manicured digits and tears the note into halves. Not as to eliminate evidence of occasional grammatical error or the topic itself. Oh dear, no. Time Management was well aware everyone involved in the message knows about the dilemma that followed time management and procrastination melding together. Not even rushing to a wastebasket to dispose of the shards of paper, she simply left the pieces on the carpeted flooring. She felt a tad. . . messy. Concluding with a yawn, Time Management eases herself onto the Procrastination's decaying couch.


End file.
